flutter
by real-placebo-effect
Summary: Suddenly, Sam sees where Gabriel gets it from. It's almost endearing.


_**f**lutter_

**r**eal-placebo-effect

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for kerrie, my love. also on tumblr.

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"No." Sam snarled, slamming the door shut.

"Yes." Michael replied, hand smacking on the wood to push it open.

"Get out," Sam hissed, shoving the archangel back out. "Get out, get out, get out."

"Sam Winchester, stop being ridiculous." Michael huffed, brushing Sam and his hands aside. The nose of his vessel (which, by the way, is blue-eyed and dark-haired. Still, this vessel and Lucifer's could've been brothers. Nick, not Sam.) wrinkles. "These motels are highly unhygienic."

"This isn't happening." Sam said firmly, shutting his eyes and pressed his fingernails into his palm hard enough to draw blood.

"Stop that." Michael frowned. "No, seriously. You're not—hallucinating me, Sam."

"That's what he said."

"There was a wall," Michael realised out loud; eyes flooding with an unidentified emotion Sam suspected was pity. "And—…Castiel? Castiel broke it."

"Stop doing that."

"I—Sam, who have you been seeing?"

"Lucifer." Sam says, after a moment.

"I can fix that, you know." Michael said, quietly.

"Get out."

"I'm so sorry, Sa—"

"Get. Out."

.

Sam broke down again, after weeks of coping, and shot himself in the chest. Dean freaked out, of course, and Michael fluttered in.

"Michael?"

"Come with me if you want to live." He deadpanned. Dean's lips twitched despite himself. Michael rolled his eyes. "No, seriously, Dean. Get out of the way so I can save your brother. Again."

Two fingers smack against Sam's forehead and he scowls at them both as a hundred and eighty year-old wound simply…heals. "I told you not to do that."

"I'm taking a leaf out of Castiel's book. Shut up."

.

"How?" Sam demanded one day because Michael was still there.

"Me and Dad had a heart to Grace. He told me off, told me that I'd failed him in a trillion different ways. Let me crawl out of Hell and then gave me the Cliffnotes on topside life." Michael stretched out as Sam turned a corner, coffee jolting in his lap. "Gave me a shiny new suit. It's empty in here. Like Adam. It's just me. Watch. Echo."

Michael cupped his ear, listening, nodding.

"Why me?" Michael was quiet, so quiet, and Sam turned to find him. Except he was gone, coffee and all.

When Sam reached the motel, Dean was still asleep. The smell of coffee floated in the air and he found his latte (half-gone) and Dean's black coffee on the table, a note on it.

_I.O.U_

_–M xoxo_

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Michael fluttered in, three whole weeks later, looking a little annoyed. Dean jumped, still not used to the fluttering, but Sam doesn't bat an eyelash. He'd seen those wings bleed and mend and poised for battle, after all. Sam could probably hear them a mile away.

"Michael."

"I've been called to front-line duty," The archangel said, suddenly. "I'm a full-time General again."

"Congratulations." Dean said, dryly. "Didja want a gold star?"

"Nope, got a full set from Dad."

Sam froze. "He's back?"

"Part-time." Michael allowed. "He's still pretty pissed with us. Y'know for the whole—"

He gestured a little wildly here and Sam sighed. Dean bristled with righteous anger. "Are you kidding me? What the hell k—"

"Dean," Michael interrupted, looking rumpled and exhausted. "I know. You know. Sam knows. God definitely knows. Can you not?"

Dean grumbled but didn't elaborate. "Thank you. Basically, I'm not gonna be around as much. So you guys just…try not to die, okay?"

"Okay." Sam said, not really caring. Michael's shoulder moved, minutely, and Sam could almost see the wings arching up for flight. Then, he paused.

"Gabriel says hello. He also says not to worry about Castiel; we are dealing with it."

Before either of them can say anything, Michael's gone.

.

Michael cornered Sam, two weeks later, looking rumpled, eyes furious and dark and he pushed Sam into a corner, hands tightening on Sam's jacket. He leaned in before his brow creased with confusion. He let go of Sam's jacket, smoothing it down. Then, he fluttered off, leaving the smell of ozone in the air.

All this happened in less than two minutes.

.

"Sam."

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry about—" He flailed again and Sam rolled his eyes, watching the blue, silver, turquoise aurora in front of him. Of course, he'd never seen one before but this was a dream, so Sam figured accuracy didn't really matter.

"Yeah, s'cool."

"This is inaccurate." Michael accused. "The Northern Lights look nothing like this, F.Y.I."

"Did you just—" Sam shook his head. "It's a dream. Don't really care."

"I'll take you there." Michael announced.

"Micha—"

"Your dreams are gonna be accurate. Or else."

"I'm shakin' in my goddamn boots."

"Damn right."

.

"Um." Michael said, shifting awkwardly.

"Go on." Sam drawled.

"So, I think I miss you."

"Aw, Michael. That's adorable."

"Shut your mouth."

.

"Sam, I think my vessel might be sexually attracted to you."

"…I thought that was an empty vessel."

Michael fled.

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Two weeks after that, Michael fluttered in, just long enough to corner Sam again and kiss him senseless.

"Finally!" Sam shouted up.

A crack of lightning is his reply.


End file.
